Finding A Way To Cheer Up A Cranky Bastard
by sienna27
Summary: Story 2 of 5. TV Prompt Set #14 - Title Challenge: Someone's Cranky - The next installment in the Finding'verse. This one takes place a few weeks after "dump the body." Hotch has a problem, and he's not sharing
1. I'm Okay, You're Okay

**Author's Note**: I keep finding stuff in my folder that's basically done, so, I just keep putting them up :) The short ones anyway. They're manageable. But I've got two mega stories in there that can't go anywhere until I wrap up at least two mega stories already in progress. So we've got a year or two to go before you see them :)

This is another entry in the Finding Universe. Not a one shot, but it's only a couple of chapters, and they're pretty much done. Again, manageable.

This one picks up a few weeks post "Finding a Place to Dump the Body," and if you haven't, it would be VERY helpful to read that one first, as it does set the groundwork for everyone's interactions here.

H/P are still physically uncoupled in this entry. Just, close. And FYI, though the Finding Verse overall is known to be generally heavier on the humor, this one (though it does have humor in it) is more a specific focused story.

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also some random randomness that is my brain._

_**Tumblr: sienna27 **__– More randomness._

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><p><strong>Prompt Set #14<strong>

Show: Everybody Loves Raymond

Title Challenge: Someone's Cranky

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><p><strong>I'm Okay, You're Okay . . . So What's Wrong With Them?<strong>

Emily and JJ's heads both snapped back from the case files in front of them.

Hotch had just begun screaming at Dave from behind the paper thin walls of the conference room down the hall.

"GOD **DAMN** IT DAVE, IT WAS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS! NOW DON'T **FUCKING** INTERFERE IN MY LIFE AGAIN!"

Emily's eyes popped in astonishment.

HOLY CRAP! What the hell was THAT?

Just as she was about to ask JJ if she knew what was going on, Emily heard the conference room door crash open. A split second later Hotch stormed out, and she quickly dropped her gaze back down to her case notes so he wouldn't see her watching him.

Though as soon as he'd moved by the small work table in the precinct bullpen . . . going at a clip bordering on 'light jog' . . . her gaze shot back up again.

It was just in time to see him crash into a uniformed patrolman . . . it was a rookie from the looks of how he went down like a sack of potatoes . . . and then keep right on flying out into the back corridor.

He left a stunned bullpen . . . and a rookie, covered in, what appeared to be evidence slips . . . in his wake.

Once Emily had processed that that incredible, _inconceivable_, event had indeed JUST happened . . . in all of her years with the BAU, Emily couldn't recall Hotch EVER losing it so completely, and certainly never so publically . . . her eyes snapped back over to JJ's equally stunned ones.

"What the frigging hell was THAT?" She hissed to her friend in disbelief.

Yes, Hotch had been a bit 'cranky' for the last six days they'd been in San Antonio . . . he'd snapped no less than four number 2 pencils completely in half, the last one having a ricochet shard that nearly took out Reid's eye . . . but she'd chalked it up to the lack of progress on the case. Again, they'd _been_ in Texas for a full damn week!

That was enough to drive anyone around the bend.

But there was NOTHING in his previous behavior . . . pencil snapping was (mostly) a victimless crime . . . to indicate that he was about to go all drunk ass Mel Gibson on anyone! Especially on DAVE of all people!

That was his best friend!

After considering Emily's question for a second, JJ's ponytail whipped back and forth vehemently.

"I have NO idea!" She blinked once before her eyes trailed over towards the open doorway a little further down the hall, "wow. Seriously, I haven't seen Hotch that angry since . . ."

She trailed off for a second before her wide eyed gaze flipped back to Emily's.

"You know, I don't know if I've _ever_ seen him that angry."

It just wasn't like Hotch to lose his temper. Yes, he did get pissed off . . . fairly regularly in fact, understandable given the stress of their work . . . but with his level of control, it rarely showed as more than a flicker of annoyance on his face.

Or maybe . . . if it was a really bad day . . . a slight clip in his tone.

Even then though, he was quick to cover up any upset with his rigid professional mask. Apparently tonight the mask had slipped a bit . . . and then crashed down onto the floor.

Sort of in the manner of a bulldozer falling off of a cliff.

"Me either," Emily chewed her lip worriedly as she looked down at her notepad, and then back up at JJ, "and I've never heard him get angry at Dave before. I mean," her brow wrinkled slightly as she shook her head, "you know, not _genuinely _upset, angry. I wonder if it was about the case."

She didn't think so. What she'd heard sounded like a personal upset.

A VERY personal upset!

But as far as Emily knew, Hotch had no major personal upsets right now. Not that she knew _everything _about his personal life . . . obviously not given how this mega meltdown had taken her completely by surprise. Because as much as she wished it wasn't so, their relationship was still very much in the platonic, 'friends with no benefits,' stage.

Though . . . she bit her lip . . . over the last few weeks they'd admittedly grown even closer than they'd been before. There had been touching, dancing . . .

Coat putting on'ing.

Basically all of the minor . . . platonic . . . physical interactions you could engage in with somebody that you were totally in love with . . . yet not allowed to be with . . . were now showing full engagement.

Really . . . Emily thought back fondly . . . him shipping that man chasing, hootchie mama little skank bitch off to Baltimore, had really been a bit of a turning point in their non-relationship. He'd been much more attentive since then.

Much more 'open' since then.

And given that openness . . . and attentiveness . . . she was now wondering just how piss poor her observational skills were . . . and her friendship skills too for that matter . . . if this was the first that she'd perceived that there was a major issue going on with him.

They _should_ have now been on fairly even footing in the sharing department.

Her brow wrinkled . . . but perhaps this has nothing to do with that . . . with her. Perhaps he was just keeping something close to his vest.

Something that he considered "private."

Still though, she should have at least picked up that there was a _something_ in the vest area. He didn't have to tell her everything . . . again, they weren't sleeping together so private concerns were 'allowed' . . . but she really wished that he had at least let her know that something was weighing on his mind.

Otherwise, how was she going to help?

Silly man.

So now with this unknown thing in the vest area . . . clearly that's what it was, a close to the vest thing . . . she was completely flying blind. But she was really worried about him now though . . . she starting tapping her pen nervously on the tabletop . . . because if he was THIS stressed out that he'd explode at Dave . . . in public no less . . . then that meant that he really needed some emotional support with whatever his issue was.

And the only person besides Dave . . . cue irony . . . that Hotch ever went to discuss anything with, was her.

So that meant . . . she dropped her pen with a clatter . . . that she needed to go find him.

Now.

She looked up at JJ, and then by unspoken agreement . . . it was just a slight tip of their heads . . . each closed their file folders. Then they shoved back their chairs.

It was time for them to go deal with their respective _non_ significant others.

Not that JJ knew about her unrequited devotion to Hotch . . . at least she hoped she didn't, Emily would sooner show up at the office in her circa 1992 Marky Mark night shirt, than have that one get out . . . but it was still understood . . . she got up and began heading towards the exit Hotch had disappeared into . . . that when something clearly needed to be discussed, that the men clearly didn't _wish_ to discuss, that she handled Hotch and JJ handled Dave.

When it came to Reid and Morgan they flipped a coin.

Just before she got to the back doorway, Emily decided to turn around to go over and assist the rookie. He was still down on his hands and knees grasping at the scraps of paper that had flown out of his hands.

Though she wanted to get to Hotch sooner than later . . . she started making her own stack of blank evidence tags . . . he had admittedly also been running nuclear when he'd stormed out.

This way . . . she gave the young kid a sympathetic smile . . . he'd have a minute to cool down. And then she wouldn't get her face ripped off. It seemed the most sensible approach.

After all . . . she slid her first stack of tags into the larger grouping . . . she was pretty attached to her face.

/*/*/*/

JJ paused for a second to watch Emily helping the patrolman on the floor pick up his paperwork. For a moment she considered going over to pitch in, but after a quick count, she realized that there were only a few slips left scattered about.

They could handle it.

So she turned, and with her jaw twitching in a slightly nervous anticipation, continued along the short hallway that Hotch had come storming down a moment before.

When she reached the open door where she knew Rossi was still located, she took a breath . . . and raised her fist.

After one quick rap, she poked her head around the corner. Seeing Dave's back was to the door . . . he couldn't see her . . . she was about to call his name. But then suddenly he barked.

"I have the room!"

She flinched at the tone.

It was a bad tone.

But it didn't deter her actions . . . not much anyway . . . as she took a step over the threshold and slipped inside the room.

"Dave it's me," she said quietly while pushing shut the door behind her, "what just happened with you and Hotch?"

Hearing JJ's voice behind him, Dave immediately spun around. And he was just about to tell her to go back to work, when he saw the worry on her face.

Even if he was righteously pissed off, he could never take it out on her.

She was always his soft spot.

So feeling his expression immediately softening, he shook his head. "It's nothing Jennifer. Don't worry about it."

With a roll of her eyes at that ridiculous answer . . . who the hell did he think he was talking to . . . JJ stepped farther into the room.

"David Fedele Rossi," she huffed impatiently, "if you think that I'm going to listen to Hotch SCREAMING in a police precinct, and then take, '_it's nothing Jennifer_,' for an answer as to why that happened, you're nuts."

Seeing Dave had winced at the realization their argument had been heard so openly . . . the Bureau's professional reputation was important to both men . . . JJ felt a wave of sympathy override her irritation with his evasiveness.

So she closed the last few steps separating them.

"Just tell me what happened," she whispered as she took his hand.

Dave stared down at her for a moment . . . but he didn't speak. And then . . . when his gaze dropped to their joined fingers . . . she realized that she'd been holding on to them for a bit too long.

She should have just patted his arm and left it at that. And feeling a slight tickle of embarrassment at her actions . . . not the first time in Dave's presence . . . JJ immediately let go of his hand.

Her arm fell back to her side.

Though she was a happily married woman . . . most of the time, everybody went through some bramble patches . . . JJ had a little bit of a crush on Dave Rossi. It had been going on for about . . . well, oh fifteen years or so.

Ever since that day she'd seen him speak at Georgetown.

And she knew that _he_ knew that she had this little crush. She knew this just as well as she knew that he knew that _she_ knew, that he had MORE than a little crush back.

Basically it was a bit of a cluster.

Long story short, Dave was in love with her. But since neither of them was going to do anything to break up her family, rather than all of these cross feelings making things awkward and uncomfortable, it had actually bonded them in a special way. Though as an unspoken rule, both did try to keep their hands to themselves.

Mostly.

Dave shoved his hand into his pants pocket, still feeling the tingle where JJ's small fingers had been touching his skin.

God, that woman did drive him insane.

And as he looked down at her nervously biting her lip, he couldn't help but reach out to brush a strand of hair back behind her ear.

It had come loose from the ponytail.

"Honestly Jen," he said softly, "it's nothing for you to concern yourself with. It's just a personal thing between me and Hotch," he shook his head firmly, "and really, he wouldn't appreciate me talking about it," then he winked at her to try to lighten the mood, "guy stuff you know."

Well, not so much 'guy stuff you know,' as Hotch would honest to God take his balls off if he found out that he'd told JJ what was going on with him.

Granted, what was going on with him did actually affect her . . . or it could potentially . . . she didn't need to know that right now. Right now it was still Hotch's business.

And seeing the shy smile that she was giving him as a response to the wink, he knew that he had succeeded in lightening the mood.

He'd also succeeded in adding a new ache to his gut.

_Oh Jennifer_ . . . he sighed to himself . . ._ you're going to drive me to a not so early grave. _

But she had a ring, long before he had a clue, so here they were.

Traveling different paths.

Still though, her happiness was important to him . . . it would always be important to him . . . and he didn't want her worrying about things that she didn't need to worry about.

Yet.

So he took advantage of the ground he'd gained with the wink . . . he'd thrown her off balance, as had been his intention . . . and moved his hand down from her cheek to her shoulder.

"Now come on," he started guiding her out of the room before her stubbornness returned, "let's go get some coffee and one of those strawberry pop tarts out of the vending machine. Then you can show me what you and Emily came up with over the last couple of hours."

Strawberry pop tarts were her favorite.

JJ looked up at Dave, feeling the gentle pressure of his fingers pressing into her shoulder.

Though she still wanted to know exactly what had happened between him and Hotch . . . it was clear from the lines around his mouth that he was still upset about it . . . she also knew that there were times when she needed to let things go.

Sometimes it just wasn't her business.

And if he said it was 'guy stuff,' that meant that it was 'personal stuff.' And it wasn't right to push him on something personal.

At least not when he'd closed the door so firmly on the conversation.

That said . . . they stepped back into the corridor with his hand still on her shoulder . . . if things were still obviously strained between him and Hotch when their day started tomorrow, then she was taking another run at Dave's little barrier.

Keeping secrets was bad for his heart.

/*/*/*/*/*

As Emily stepped out of the back door of the frigid police precinct . . . they kept the place like a meat locker . . . the oppressive air immediately smacked her in the face.

Good Christ . . . she grimaced while pulling her cotton blouse away from her body . . . Texas in early October SUCKED!

And this was how much it STILL sucked at ten in the evening!

But of course . . . she blew out a disgusted huff of air as she began scanning the enormous parking lot for Hotch . . . this part of the country didn't really have much of a fall. It went from summer to mild winter to summer again.

Basically it was pretty gross from most of the year. And serial killers never did seemed to have much consideration for the weather.

Assholes.

But knowing that she needed to put her personal . . . physical . . . discomfort aside . . . this was a Hotch Hunt after all . . . Emily decided to turn towards the area where they'd left the SUVs late that afternoon.

Seeing as he wasn't right by the back door . . . she began walking . . . that seemed as good a place as any to go looking for him. It wasn't likely that he had driven off . . . again, they were in the midst of a HUGE case . . . so most likely he was just letting his temper settle a bit before he went back inside.

Maybe he thought a walk through the lot would do him some good.

And quite a 'lot' it was.

When they'd returned from the last round of interviews that day, it had been in the middle of shift change . . . twice as many officers were onsite then than any other time of day . . . so they'd been stuck parking way in the back part lot.

It was officially the "auxiliary" area . . . unofficially it was tagged, "Siberia."

After a lot of walking around parked cars . . . it was a good two minutes now since she'd left the station house . . . she finally entered Siberia. And sure enough . . . there was Hotch under the glow of a sodium lamp.

He had his back to her.

And seeing that his head was down, Emily pouted slightly as she increased her strides . . . poor thing.

What could have thrown him off this much?

And figuring that Hotch would expect that she'd be coming after him . . . he was always coming after her when she was upset . . . as Emily walked up behind him, she put her hand out to touch his back.

And suddenly found an elbow smashing into her face.

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><p><em>AN 2: What was Emily thinking sneaking up behind him like that? Why is Hotch so upset with Dave? Will Morgan and Reid ever settle down and get married? Will anyone out there get this SOAP reference?_

_For those of you that did, I hope you enjoyed it :)_

_Next chapter's written here. I'll hold it for this weekend though because I don't know what else I'll have done by then. Otherwise, Second Chances, I'll put that up tomorrow. It's polished, but I've been cleaning all evening and I'm yawning at this moment so I'm just too tired to dig that one out right now too._


	2. Tactical Maneuvers

**Author's Note**: Thanks for all the feedback on chapter one! Apparently there's always a niche for a new 'Finding' story :)

Direct continuation from the elbow flying.

**Other Accounts:**

**_Twitter: ffsienna27 _**_– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also some random randomness that is my brain._

**_Tumblr: sienna27 _**_– More randomness._

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><p><strong>Tactical Maneuvers<strong>

"FUCK!"

Emily doubled over swearing at the explosion of blinding white pain that smashed into her face.

Hotch's elbow.

"AARON IT'S ME!" She cried out while stumbling backwards, grabbing for her now gushing nose. She was trying to . . . with both words and actions . . . prevent the expected follow up flip to the ground.

The one that would probably crack her skull open.

Hotch spun around, his mouth dropping open in horror at sight in front of him.

Emily . . . bent over . . . with crimson splattering onto the asphalt in front of her.

"OH GOD! He started frantically searching his pockets for something to staunch the blood flow, "OH JESUS EMILY! I'M SO SORRY! I DIDN'T KNOW THAT IT WAS YOU!"

OBVIOUSLY! But STILL . . . he finally yanked a handful of napkins from his left jacket pocket . . . what the HELL had he DONE?

Now operating in full panic mode, he hurriedly took a step forward before reaching out to put his hand on Emily's back.

"Emily," he said, punctuating his words with a slight squeeze to her shoulder, "come on, you have to tip your head back or it won't stop bleeding."

It a second for her to react to his instructions . . . she still seemed to be too stunned to move quickly . . . but then she slowly straightened up.

And when she did . . . and he saw the tears in her eyes and the blood still running down her face . . . he wanted to be sick.

He'd never felt more horrible in his life.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered as reached out to touch her cheek, "please let me help."

It was literally, the LEAST he could do for smacking her in the face.

Emily stared up at Hotch for a moment before her brain finally processed what he'd just said. That hit had hurt so much that for a second she hadn't been able to focus on anything beyond her initial efforts at self-preservation.

Aka, him not knocking her unconscious.

But now, as she began blinking to rid the tears from her eyes . . . they were an involuntary pain reflex, nothing more . . . she could see Hotch . . . with crumbled yellow napkins in hand . . . standing in front of her.

He looked like somebody had just killed his puppy . . . poor thing.

So she let her arms fall to her sides.

"Okay," she muttered as she sucked in a breath of air through her mouth, "if you want. Have at it."

Oh good . . . she thought with an internal eye roll as she huffed in another undignified breath . . . mouth breathing. That's always attractive. Well, whatever. Her face was now so messed up that mouth breathing, however 'forty year old man living in his mom's basement it was,' was the least of her aesthetic concerns.

Really . . . she took another breath before she leaned back slightly . . . the Dumbo nose and slasher movie clothes . . . everything she was wearing was splattered in blood . . . were the biggest concerns.

As Emily tipped her head back, Hotch took a step closer. His palm was now cupping her cheek. Even then . . . with barely six inches between them . . . he was still standing at too awkward an angle.

Probably because Emily was twisting away from him, mumbling something . . . barely intelligible with her nasally voice . . . about not getting blood on him.

He just shook his head at her while murmuring back not to be ridiculous. Then he put his hand on her hip so that he could pull her closer.

That time she let him.

One of her hands . . . the least bloody of the two . . . clutched his jacket as he tilted her body back a bit further and pinched her nose with the napkins. Under other circumstances the position they were in . . . minus the nose pinching . . . would have looked quite romantic.

Two lovers in an apparent clinch.

And he supposed if someone saw them from a distance, it would still appear to be two lovers in a clinch. But given the situation . . . bloodied assault on the woman he hoped to one day split a mortgage . . . he wasn't feeling particularly 'romantic.' They were pretty much on Opposite Day really.

After all, again, he had just ASSAULTED Emily!

Emily. He had assaulted EMILY! He just couldn't wrap his brain around it. That was like assaulting his mother. Not that his feelings for Emily were anything like his feelings for his mother. His nose wrinkled slightly just at the comparison. But . . . well, okay he'd kind of lost the thread there.

WOMEN HE LOVED!

There it was! He'd just smacked a woman that he loved in the face. And that was just so wrong that . . . well . . . he tugged Emily a little closer to try to compensate . . . there were just no WORDS for how _wrong_ that was!

It didn't help that she hadn't said anything else besides the remark about getting him dirty. Not that she was really in a position for conversation . . . not when all of her breathing was being done through her mouth . . . but she was still being awfully quiet.

For her.

Because really, the Emily he knew wouldn't ordinarily let a little thing like mouth breathing cut off her ability to chatter. So he didn't know if she wasn't talking because it was just too physically difficult, or if she was just totally bullshit with him for what he'd done.

'_It was an accident,_' his conscience reminded him, _'training and defensive instincts. She surprised you in the dark.'_

Fine, okay . . . his teeth gritted slightly . . . that was true. She had surprised him. It wasn't an "intentional" hit to the face. But he still wasn't really ready to listen to the full message of that little voice yet.

The one that was telling him that this wasn't actually his fault.

It didn't matter that it wasn't really his fault, what _mattered _was that she was hurt . . . his hand slid around from her hip to the small of her back . . . and he was the reason for the hurt.

Lack of intent, would be something he addressed with his conscience later.

At that moment . . . close to a minute into the nose pinching . . . Emily patted his chest. That was right before coming out with a nasal, "my back hurts."

He immediately shifted his body so that she could straighten up.

But he still kept his arm wrapped around her waist.

And as she started to take a shallow breath in through her nose . . . clearly testing the waters there . . . he patted her back.

"How do you feel?" He asked worriedly.

But before she could answer, he suddenly processed the continued grimace of pain on her face . . . and then a terrible thought came to him.

So he shot a second question at her before she'd even answered the first.

"Are you in pain?" his voice hitched up a pitch, "do you think it's broken? Do we need to go to the hospital?"

He had hit her pretty hard . . . that was how he was trained . . . so it could easily be broken.

Before Emily could answer Hotch's question . . . no, she did not think her nose was broken, just slightly elephantasized . . . she suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit her. That's when she realized that there was a trickle of blood still running into her throat.

OH CRAP!

Hotch went flying to the side . . . really she shoved him as hard as she could . . . as she suddenly doubled over again. This time gagging and spitting up on the pavement.

Well . . . she grimaced as a very disgusting glob of pink spit hit the asphalt . . . this SUCKED!

_Yes, and THIS is why we announce our presence when coming up on fellow FBI agents in darkened parking lots Emily,'_ came the mocking little voice in the back of her head.

It sounded like her mother.

But she told that voice to take a hike. Yes, in hindsight . . . and with her now looking like an extra in a Friday the 13th movie . . . she could see that she was indeed a complete DUMBASS!

Of course she should have called out as she approached him. That was just total idiocy on her part. She was coming at him from behind in a darkened . . . deserted . . . parking lot.

_That _was bad enough.

But then add in that they were in this sweltering city because they were hunting a serial killer . . . one that had a body count now hitting double digits . . . and she realized that she was just lucky that Hotch hadn't actually pulled his gun and SHOT her!

Wait . . . her brain refocused . . . Hotch. His arm had just encircled her waist again.

Hence the refocusing.

And that's when Emily realized that she hadn't answered his question yet . . . the one where he asked if she needed to go to the hospital.

"Come on," he said as she felt his fingers press tightly into her side. Then he was half lifting her off the ground, "we're going to the ER."

To a layperson that might have sounded like simply a professional, 'brokering no room for discussion' order.

But to Emily . . . who was being now being half dragged/half carried to one of their SUVs by the man with whom she'd been working with almost 24/7 for just over five years now . . . that was Hotch's version of complete . . . and total . . . freak out.

It was very sweet.

But of course the reason he was freaking out was because her response to his question, "do we need to go to the hospital?" was to start spitting up blood on the sidewalk.

Again . . . she rolled her eyes . . . complete IDIOT.

But they most definitely did NOT need to go to the hospital . . . this was barely a scratch. Okay, bumpy scratch. But either way . . . she planted her feet on the pavement as she dropped her hand down to cover his . . . no ER visit was necessary.

"No," she shook her head firmly while squeezing his fingers, "no. Hotch I'm okay. Really, I promise. I'm fine."

When he stopped and looked down at her . . . with the Super Worried Eyebrow . . . it almost hit his hairline . . . she gave him a little smile.

"I was a little nauseous for a second, but I'm okay now. It's not broken and I'm definitely not sick. It was just," her mouth twisted disdainfully, "gross."

And it was still gross. Fortunately the blood was now down to a minor trickle, but it was still . . . her free hand came back up to pinch her nose . . . gross.

And messy.

So still holding her swelling nose, she asked in her now default nasal voice, "do you have any more napkins?"

The two he'd been using . . . now crumbled in a disgusting clump on the ground . . . were soaked through.

Momentarily ignoring Emily's question about the napkins, Hotch's jaw twisted as he stared down at her for a moment. He was trying to decide if she was really okay . . . or if she just was trying to avoid going to the hospital.

She did hate the hospital.

Finally he decided that she looked all right . . . well, not all right . . . nobody with a bloody face and a swollen nose looked 'all right' . . . she _looked_ like she'd been going for the Featherweight Title . . . but she didn't appear confused, or as though she was going to collapse.

So apparently . . . he let out a small breath . . . he hadn't ground her nose into her brain, or anything else equally catastrophic.

Yeah . . . he gave an internal eye roll at the stupidity of his thought . . . probably not Aaron. Especially given that grinding her nose into her brain would have KILLED her!

Idiot.

Right . . . his jaw snapped shut . . . idiot.

But then the idiot processed there was still an unanswered question hanging out there.

One about napkins.

He shook his head with a slight jerk.

"Uh, no, no I don't. But," he adjusted his grip on her waist as he walked her the rest of the way over to the SUV, "there should be more in here."

Yes, he knew that he could probably let her go now . . . she wasn't in dire need of medical attention, nor was she on the verge of physical collapse . . . but he didn't want to let her go.

Not yet.

Being able to keep her close to him in a way that he couldn't ordinarily, was making him feel better. Like he was taking _proper_ care of her. Like he would if she was his.

For real.

So even after he'd pulled the keys from his pocket, turned off the alarm and hit the locks, he kept her tucked against his side. And she didn't seem to mind . . . she still had one hand on her nose, but she was leaning slightly on his chest . . . so he didn't feel like he was taking advantage.

Of course taking advantage . . . in a more lusty manner . . . was ordinarily a thought omnipresent when he was touching her, anywhere really. But at the moment those thoughts had faded to a back room.

There would be time for them again later.

After he'd finished putting Humpty Dumpty back together again.

So after he'd yanked open the passenger door, he popped open the glove compartment.

And . . . yes . . . his eyes lit up as he reached inside . . . Kleenex!

Lots of it.

After he'd grabbed one of the half dozen mini packets of tissues jammed in there . . . JJ had seasonal allergies and she'd bought a huge package of Kleenex a few days earlier . . . Hotch turned back to Emily.

"Okay," he murmured as he started yanking them out, "let's finish this up."

Again . . . he tipped her head back . . . as ways to make amends went right now, this was about all that he could do.

Emily stared up at the stars in the sky, trying not to gag again as Hotch pinched her nose for her. Twice she signaled that she needed to spit but slowly that icky sensation began to fade again.

Finally . . . a few minutes, and a slightly stiff neck later . . . Hotch pulled away a still mostly white Kleenex.

"I think it's stopped," he said softly as he looked at her.

God . . . he swallowed as he looked down at her pretty face . . . she was a complete mess.

Not only was there was blood smeared all over the lower half of her nose, mouth and chin, but her shirt and jacket were also splattered.

As were her boots.

Though the jacket and boots were at least black . . . the shirt was previously white, now streaked in crimson . . . he could still see the sheen in the sodium lights.

Then his eyes dropped down to his own outfit . . . his clothes looked as bad as hers.

Apparently Emily had been right about getting him dirty . . . not to mention to he'd also been wiping his hands on his shirt.

They were . . . he shook his head slowly . . . quite a sight.

As Emily started taking slow deep breaths . . . the first clear ones he'd heard from her since she'd appeared in front (behind) him . . . Hotch leaned back into the car to dump all the bloody tissues in the small trash can.

It looked like a mini massacre had occurred.

Trying to dismiss the image . . . the team spilling blood, even just of the busted nose variety always upset him . . . he reached under the front seat. A second later he pulled out the standard FBI issue container of disinfectant wipes.

It was the first time that he'd actually been grateful for the 'messier' aspects of their work.

So after he'd wiped his own hands off . . . they were quite sticky . . . he wiped Emily's as well. After that he turned back to her with a fresh wipe.

Then . . . as their eyes locked . . . he cupped Emily's jaw. Her lip quirked up slightly as she patted his arm.

Only then did he begin gently wiping her face clean . . . though of course being careful to avoid bumping her obviously tender nose.

After he'd gone through his second wipe Emily was finally looking like Emily again . . . though a slightly puffy nosed version of her.

It looked like she was getting mouse under her right eye too.

He turned and dropped the last pink'ish wipe into the trash. Then he looked back at her again.

"I'm so sorry about this Emily," he whispered, "do you forgive me?"

Seeing how guilty Hotch looked . . . and knowing then that he was going to be beating himself up over this one for some time to come . . . Emily felt a little pinch in her chest.

She so hated to see him upset, especially he had no reason to feel badly at all. This was her fault.

Not his.

So she reached down and picked up his free hand . . . the one that wasn't on her hip. Then a gentle smile touched her lips.

"Of course I forgive you, don't be silly. It was an accident," then her eyes rolled slightly, "a completely avoidable one if only I had just announced my presence. So really Hotch, this was my fault. Not yours. But nothing's broken," her eyes crinkled slightly, "I'll live."

Of course it hurt like a _bitch_, and she wasn't going to approach attractive for at least three or four days, but no reason to bring those things up. He'd just feel worse.

And again, he shouldn't feel badly at all.

But seeing Hotch's lack of response . . . verbal or otherwise . . . to her acceptance of his apology, she knew that he still did. So she shifted slightly closer.

And when he continued to just stare down at her she decided to be bold.

She leaned up to wrap her arms around his neck.

In the past they weren't so physically affectionate . . . though she wished very much that they were . . . but things had definitely been reset a few weeks ago. So now the occasional hug . . . even in this instance where they were still on duty . . . would be considered acceptable if the other was hurting and needed a little extra support.

Which was what was happening right now.

Of course the irony that _she_ was the one that was injured, but _he _was the one that was hurting, was one that the gods were probably having a little chuckle at right then.

Though for a moment . . . to her surprise . . . Emily got the feeling that Hotch wasn't going to hug her back.

It wasn't doing much for her ego.

Especially when she considered how unattractive she probably looked right about then. Not that she thought in any way that Hotch cared about such things . . . he wasn't one of those men . . . but still it was a little tickle of insecurity in her brain.

An annoying one.

But then finally . . . a good twenty, twenty-five seconds into her hanging off of his neck like a chimpanzee . . . she felt his arms slide around her body.

And then he really got into it.

He tugged her close and buried his face in her hair. She gave that action it's due respect . . . it was just too good to interrupt . . . but then finally he moved his head slightly.

His breath was no longer directly on her ear.

Pity.

Still though . . . she turned to whisper in his ear . . . now she could say what she wanted to say.

"See," she murmured, "I'm fine. Still in one piece."

This is why she was so insistent on the hug. Well, the main reason. The secondary one (always the secondary one) was that Hotch was well . . . Hotch. And any Hotch action she could get, she was taking.

And yes some people might consider it was pathetic that she was considering a simple fully clothed hug . . . especially under these circumstances . . . as 'action.' But, whatever. Screw those people.

They'd never seen the Hotness that was Aaron Hotchner.

But getting a bit of platonic action wasn't actually her main goal here, again, mostly she just wanted Hotch to see for himself that she was totally fine.

A little Tylenol and an ice pack and she'd be good as new.

Really, she'd been an FBI agent for sixteen years, so this was HARDLY the first elbow that she'd taken to an unsuspecting body part. The last time it had been an eye while they were subduing a prisoner in Omaha. Damn thing swelled shut for three days. She'd ended up wearing a patch for two weeks until it was totally healed.

Derek . . . of course . . . bought her a stuffed parrot.

So really . . . Hotch rubbed his hand down her back . . . this little run in was nothing. That said . . . Emily's eyebrow rose slightly as another thought came to her. Perhaps she could use this little unfortunate mishap to try to pump Hotch . . . innuendo unintentional . . . for a little information.

Specifically, a little information about his run in with Dave.

Not that she in any way felt that he 'owed' it to her . . . again, the elbow jab was totally an accident and his personal business was still entirely his personal business . . . but as long as she was in this somewhat unique position . . . pressed entirely against his front . . . she wasn't going to bypass using the weapons she now had at her disposal.

Weapons such as . . . she turned her head slightly to nuzzle his neck . . . this, and . . . she breathed a soft puff of air onto his skin . . . this, and . . . she rubbed her boobs against his chest . . . that.

Her lips twitched slightly as she heard his breath catch for a moment.

Really just because she and Hotch weren't romantically involved . . . and probably never would be if these multiple years without him making a move were ANY indication . . . that didn't mean that he wasn't still a hetero male susceptible to all of the usual hetero male pressure points.

And . . . she let out another soft sigh . . . at the moment, she was doing her damndest to exploit every last one of them!

Hotch closed his eyes as he felt Emily's warm breath on his throat . . . the woman was driving him MAD! Seriously . . . his fist clenched into the cloth of her jacket . . . he wanted to take her right there against the side of the SUV!

But . . . he took a breath to try to calm down his now racing libido . . . they didn't do things like that. And that really . . . he bit his lip as she scraped her nails along his back . . . SUCKED!

And though he knew that it was past the point where he really should have broken off this 'hug' . . . though hug was much too innocent a word to encompass all of the things he wanted to do to her right then . . . for some reason he just couldn't command his arms to let her go.

Part of it was simply that he didn't want to . . . holding her like this was almost unheard of . . . but mostly it was because of how she was making him feel. Not just the physical reaction that he was having to her . . . the taking her against the SUV thing . . . but also, it was just . . . he closed his eyes as she rubbed her cheek on his shoulder . . . nice.

He'd been stressed all week about the case and his little problem. And then he'd been angry and pissed off at Dave, and after that he was upset and feeling horribly guilty about what he'd done to Emily.

Those were all really negative emotions.

And now, well, now he wasn't any of those things. Yes, of course he still felt badly about hurting her . . . he was going to feel badly about that for a while . . . but that wasn't the dominant sensation at that moment. The dominant sensation was lust.

And lust was SO much better than guilt!

Or anger! Or frustration! Or any of the other shitty things that had been dominating his spirit all week. And he would have happily stayed there with her in his arms for an hour . . . working up a nice case of blue balls in the process . . . if he could just avoid going back to dealing with his life again.

But then he felt Emily lean up to whisper something.

It took a second for his brain to process what she'd said . . . she'd said it rather wetly right into his ear . . . but when he did, he dropped his head back to her shoulder. This was what she said.

"_Tell me about your fight with Dave." _

He rolled his eyes . . . apparently God couldn't even let him work up the nice case of blue balls.

Jerk.

But still, he didn't want to answer her question. Not. At. All. He had spent all week avoiding that topic of conversation with her, and he had ZERO intention of telling her what was happening now.

And certainly not what was happening in relation to Dave!

But then she tucked her body a little closer to his . . . though he wouldn't have thought that possible . . . and brushed her breasts against him one more time. And then she whispered another wet phrase into his ear.

"_Pleease Aaron."_

And he knew then . . . he was telling her anything she wanted to hear. Social security number . . . password to his safe. Whatever she wanted to know.

He was about to spill his guts.

* * *

><p>A<em>N 2: Oh Emily, so unfair. Though that was one way to cheer him up. And poor Hotch, never can get any. Not even a quick feel in the parking lot. And if you're familiar with this universe, you know, he's not getting any from Emily for a few more months. _

_This is it for postings probably until the weekend. This is my busy week at work, plus I want to bounce around to some different drafts to move some stuff along that hasn't moved in a bit. So I don't want to worry about trying to clean anything up for post until next weekend. It'll stress my brain :)_

_Again though, thanks everybody for all the feedback!_


	3. Two Words, Oh Crap

**Author's Note: ** Continuation of Cranky Bastard. You shall find out why Hotch is/was so damn cranky. Less with the funny here, more with the relationship yada yada.

Direct continuation.

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also some random randomness that is my brain._

_**Tumblr: sienna27 **__– More randomness._

* * *

><p><strong>Two Little Words …Oh Crap<strong>

Hotch knew that he was about to lose this will power game with Emily. Hell, he'd lost it the second that he'd elbowed her in the face. But still, he was trying with the last of his fully functioning brain cells . . . a lot of blood had rushed to other areas . . . to stave off the inevitable.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The words . . . lies . . . were a mumble lost in her long brown hair. But of course . . . damn her perfect ears . . . she heard him just fine.

"Yes," Emily murmured back, "you do. That's why I came looking for you. And I can tell without even seeing your face," she continued in a soft whisper, "that you would rather eat broken glass than tell me what that fight was about. But," she nuzzled his neck again, "Hotch, you didn't hear me coming up behind you. And that worries me. Also, I don't like to see you upset. _That,_" she closed her eyes for a second, "bothers me. So please," her fingertips pressed lightly into his neck, massaging the rigid muscles beneath the skin, "just tell me what happened."

Yes, at this moment, Emily knew that she was being just _horribly _manipulative on pretty much every scale imaginable short of actually getting down on her knees and BLOWING the guy!

But, she was okay with that.

Well, okay, not the _blowing_ thing . . . not right now anyway, asphalt was hell on the knees . . . but the manipulation thing. She didn't feel a teensy bit guilty about that. Because the affection that she was showing for him was genuine, and not a word that she was saying to him was untrue. He was upset and she wanted him to feel better.

It was as simple as that.

And it was obvious even without his new layer of guilt over accidentally injuring her, _just_ how upset he was tonight. Really, the fact that he'd been so distracted that he hadn't heard her walking up behind him, well, that alone spoke VOLUMES about his state of mind!

Hotch was ALWAYS on alert. He could hear an inchworm coming up on his left from fifty yards. So the fact that her boots echoing across the full length of the back lot . . . maybe thirty yards in total . . . had completely escaped his attention, showed her that whatever was happening with him, was a dangerous distraction.

And in their line of work they couldn't afford dangerous distractions.

So she wasn't just behaving like a wanton tease for nothing. She had a mission here.

She was doing God's work damn it!

So for both their sakes, the best course of action here . . . the _only _course of action here . . . was for him to simply spill his guts. And then they could go on with their lives.

Safely . . . and happily . . . apart.

Hotch bit his lip as he considered Emily's words in context to having her body wrapped around him like a soft, warm glove. She had a good point there . . . he was allowing his personal issues to become a distraction. And that was unsafe.

For all of them.

So yes, he was going to tell her what was going on, and yes, that might actually make him feel a little better. It would at least alleviate a little of the stress that he'd been feeling that week. But telling Emily his problems . . . his _specific _problems at that moment . . . was just going to add to hers.

And that was a lousy thing to do.

Right . . . he felt a little dig in his conscience . . . lousy thing to do. Especially to a woman that he was in love with. So before he performed the organic transfer of his pile of worries to her pile of worries, he leaned back slightly to look her in the eyes.

She might have asked for this, but she still deserved to have the final option to opt out.

"It's more than just a fight with Dave," he whispered with a slight wince, "but if I tell you what's going on, you're going to be upset."

That was a definite. What he had to tell her was not going to go over well. Which was very much why . . . though he had over the last few years come to rely on talking things out with Emily . . . he'd been doing his damndest all this week, to keep this information completely to himself.

It had been hard . . . though the stack of dead bodies had helped a bit . . . but he'd gone out of his way to avoid engaging in any personal conversations with her, JUST so he wouldn't be put into a situation where he'd have to lie about what was going on in his life. And because the topic of conversation wasn't ever going to come up organically, that approach had been working quite well.

Until fucking Dave got involved.

Asshole.

At Hotch's unexpected response, Emily felt a little jolt of tension suddenly hit her own body. Then her eyes widened as she looked up at him in surprise.

"_I'm _going to be upset?"

Huh . . . her brow wrinkled in confusion . . . well, that was unexpected. But now she definitely needed to know what was going on!

"Well," she prodded him with a little pat on the chest, "you can't leave me hanging now. What is it?"

Hotch stared at Emily for a second longer before he bit his lip. Then he tucked her back against his chest again.

Given what he was about to say . . . and how she reacted . . . this might be the last opportunity that he was going to have to touch her like this for the rest of the trip. It was a rare enough activity as it was, and he wasn't going to let it go to waste.

So once he could feel her warm breath on his throat again . . . though this time it was coming a little fast . . . he tipped his head down, and pressed his lips to her ear.

"They're setting up a team in New York, and I've been offered a transfer to oversee it."

Feeling Emily's entire body go rigid, right before her head snapped back, Hotch felt a moment of true . . . and all consuming . . . regret.

And THIS was exactly why he hadn't told her!

"You're, _leaving_?" She stammered in horror.

How was this happening? She wasn't ready for this! He couldn't go away! How was she going to have adorable little dark haired munchkins with tiny perfect little dimples, if he was living in New York and she was living in Virginia?

There was NO way that his penis was that long!

"No, no," Hotch hurriedly soothed as he tucked Emily's hair back, "not for sure. I haven't accepted the position. But," he bit his lip as his eyes slid over her shoulder for a moment, "I'd be lying if I didn't say I was seriously considering it."

Feeling Emily's breath hitch, his eyes snapped back down to hers.

"I know. It's a big move. But I'd get a grade bump, more money, less travel, better hours. And Jack isn't a consideration because Haley and I both have family up there and she's not opposed to relocating to be closer to her parents. So I wouldn't be choosing between my child and my job. Really," his brow furrowed slightly, "I'd be getting much MORE time with him than I do now."

Though he really hadn't made up his mind yet . . . when he said it all out loud . . . Hotch knew that most people would think that it would be difficult to come up with a logical counterargument to why he should stay in Virginia.

But of course his counterargument . . . the one that he could never voice aloud to another human being . . . had no logic to it at all. It was simply Emily.

He despised the thought of leaving her.

"Oh," Emily responded softly as she tried to fight back the hot tears starting to pool, "um, that sounds, uh . . ."

And she couldn't finish the thought. After hearing Hotch lay out the particulars of this great new job that he was being offered . . . a job that he would obviously be a fool to turn down . . . all Emily could see was her future . . . all of her hopes and dreams for possibly someday building a life with this man who would make perfect little babies with her . . . being set ablaze right in front of her eyes. He was going to move away.

And she was going to be left behind.

And as she felt the first of those damn tears suddenly spill over and run down her cheek, she pulled away from him.

Damn it.

"Sorry," she sniffled as she hurriedly wiped her hand across her face, "must be overtired or something. That's um," another traitorous tear trickled down her cheek, "that's great though. Um," her voice caught, "congratulations."

Okay, that congratulatory offer sounded just about as insincere as it actually was. But it was hard to put on social niceties when her heart was being ripped out of her chest.

It was actually getting kind of hard to breathe too.

Crap.

Feeling a stab of pain at Emily's tears . . . if he hadn't figured out last month that her feelings for him were as strong as his were for her, this would have been proof . . . Hotch reached out to catch her hand before she moved further away from him.

"Emily," he whispered as he tugged her back, "I'm not leaving yet. I promise, I really haven't decided. I just . . ." he paused for a second to look down into her watery eyes, "I've been thinking about it. They need a decision next week. But Dave," his tone suddenly took a dark edge as the grip on her hand tightened, "I just found out tonight that he called Strauss on his own, and told her that I needed this change, and that she shouldn't take no for an answer."

Meddling fucking bastard. Like he knew jack shit about his life and what he needed! What he NEEDED was Emily! And he couldn't fucking have her!

Here OR there!

On some level he wished it was an option to spill his guts and plead with her to move with him to start up the new team . . . but it wasn't an option. Geography wouldn't change a thing about their current dilemma. The rules in New York were no different than they were at Quantico.

No fraternization.

Period.

Emily's eyes popped in astonishment.

"_What?_!" she sputtered up at him in disbelief, "he actually _did_ that? _THAT'S_ what you were fighting about?"

At Hotch's tense nod, Emily felt her own blood pressure shoot through the roof.

"Well, what the FUCK?" she hissed furiously, "how is that HIS place to interfere like that in YOUR life?"

That ASSHOLE! Christ! No wonder Hotch was so pissed. She was ready to take swing at Rossi herself! What the hell was he THINKING trying to send him away!

And now if Hotch did leave, Emily knew that even if it was his choice alone, there was no way that she'd be able to stay friends with Dave. Not knowing that he had so royally screwed up her entire future.

As that last thought hit her, suddenly Emily's eyes started to burn again . . . her future. The one with her in one place, and him in another. After all the perks that he'd just outlined, she couldn't think of one good reason for him to stay here.

Not one.

Oh God . . . her chest hitched as it started really sinking in . . . he was leaving!

Feeling a wave of personal . . . righteous . . . satisfaction at Emily's support of his position, Hotch huffed back.

"_Thank_ you!"

Finally, somebody else in the world who sees his point of view!

But then he realized that Emily had started crying again, and the personal satisfaction was replaced with a flood of despair.

He should not have told her what was happening. That had been a mistake.

One that was hurting her.

"Oh Emily," he sighed as he reached out to pull her back against his chest, "THIS is why I didn't want you to know. I didn't want anyone to know. Because clearly whatever I decide to do, is going to have a ripple effect on all the rest of you. And I didn't want any of you to worry about something that might not happen."

Even putting aside his personal relationship with Emily, intellectually Hotch knew that if he left, he would also leave a huge vacuum in the unit.

A vacuum that Strauss might fill with one of her minions.

So whatever decision he made was going to impact more lives . . . and careers . . . than just his own.

"But if the job is as good as you say," Emily murmured back against his throat, "then why wouldn't you take it?" Her fingers fisted in his jacket as she leaned back to look at him, "what could possibly make you stay?"

Hotch stared down at Emily for a moment, the answer just sitting there on the tip of his tongue.

'_You. I would stay for you.' _

But he couldn't say it. It would just make it all so much worse. So instead he just cupped her cheek as he gave her a sad smile.

"I have a life here," he said softly, "and I'm just not sure if I'm ready to give it up." And realizing then . . . from the tiny spark of hope now present in Emily's watery eyes . . . that he had said enough for that night, he cleared his throat.

"Okay," he closed his eyes for a second to give her one more tight hug, "so that's enough of talking about that. As of right now, everything is as it was yesterday, so there's really nothing more to say right now."

There was actually, but he didn't want to give her false hope. To tell her that he was, in reality, leaning heavily towards staying at Quantico.

Of course simple logic would dictate that the TRANSFER was where he should be leaning. It was an upwards career move, less travel (a part of the job that admittedly was beginning to wear on him the older he got), and most importantly . . . it would be more time with his son. And if he had regular hours, he could probably renegotiate custody to joint as opposed to the visitation he had now.

And that would be fantastic.

Yes, Haley was quite flexible about letting him see Jack at off times . . . but it wasn't the same as fifty percent. Of course _nothing_ would ever be as good as going back to one hundred percent . . . but that ship had sailed years ago.

Actually from what Hotch had heard since the divorce, that ship had been docked in quite a few ports since he'd last been aboard.

Apparently Haley had some oats to sow.

Anyway . . . point? Oh, right . . . he refocused . . . the move to New York seemed to be the one with all the check marks next to it.

Yet still . . . he leaned back to give Emily a little smile . . . he had something keeping him here.

And he wasn't sure if he was quite ready yet to let that something go.

Though she still had a tiny pit in her stomach, Emily felt her lips involuntarily curve at Hotch's smile. He could cheer her up even on the worst of days. And he was right, there was nothing more to talk about right now.

So Emily sniffed as she reached up to fix the smudges of mascara she could feel running at the corner of her eye.

But what was she going to do about Hotch? Well . . . her teeth sunk into her lip as her eyes fell away from his . . . really nothing. Yes, she most definitely still had that cold pit in her stomach at the thought of him leaving, but . . . it was his life. And really, he should have more time with Jack.

Plus . . . she started thinking about the other points he had outlined . . . it would probably be good for his stress. And less field work meant that the job would be safer too.

Shit . . . her eyes fell shut . . . maybe he should go. Maybe that's what Rossi was thinking about when he called Strauss.

Doing what was best for Hotch.

And all she was thinking about was what was best for her.

So she swallowed her ego, and her plans for a future that might never happen, as she looked back over at him.

"You know," she started slowly, trying to sound nonchalant as she wiped her hand under her eye, "New York's not that far away. It's not like if you left we'd never see each other again. I," she hurried to correct her slip, "_we_, could come up and visit."

"_What?"_ Hotch's eyes popped in surprise, "Emily I JUST told you, I haven't made up my mind yet. So there's certainly no reason to start working out a," he rolled his eyes, "commuting schedule."

What was the woman thinking? That was Dave talk right there.

Emily rubbed his arm, "yeah, but . . ."

And he cut her off, "yeah, but nothing," he turned to walk over and snatch another handiwipe from the box in the SUV. And as he turned back, he shook his head. "Now we're not talking about it anymore tonight."

Emily tipped her head slowly, "okay," she reached for the cloth in his hand, "if that's what you want."

"It is what I want," Hotch nodded as he moved his hand away from her, "and I also want to do this," he put his hand on her jaw, "because I can see your face and you can't. And you're just going to make it worse."

Really he wanted to do it because it was another mess that he had made, so it was another mess that he should clean up. But seeing Emily huff slightly, he flashed her a half of a dimple.

Her eyes crinkled in response.

"Okay," she whispered, "if you want."

That's when he began gently wiping away the smears of mascara that the tears had dragged down her pretty face.

A few seconds later her murmured, "all clean" as he balled up the wipe. Then he turned and tossed it into the trash before stepping back to slam the SUV door shut.

"We should get back." He said as he turned around.

They'd probably been gone at least fifteen or twenty minutes. It was actually somewhat surprising that neither of their phones had started ringing yet.

"Right," Emily nodded as she took a breath to reset her composure, "we need to get back." Then she saw Hotch staring at her chest and her eyebrow went up.

"What?"

"Your clothes," Hotch winced as he took in the crimson splashes again, "I'm really sorry about your clothes. I'll pay for the dry cleaning."

Emily's gaze dropped back to her formerly white blouse and snorted.

"Uh, thanks," she huffed, "but this is actually going in the trash. I've learned over the years that white silk does NOT recover from blood stains."

Seeing the look of dismay on Hotch's face at this news, Emily quickly added. "But you can pay to clean the suit if you'd like."

He nodded, "I would, thank you," then he put his hand on her shoulder and started walking her back towards the precinct, "now come on, let's go see if we can borrow a couple clean shirts."

They hadn't gone more than a few car lengths, before Hotch's eyebrow went up as a cruiser moving through the lot suddenly flashed it's lights at them.

"I think our slasher movie attire has attracted some attention," he muttered drily.

Well . . . he started digging in his pocket for his ID . . . this was not his finest moment.

Emily's eyes widened as the cruiser slowed to a stop.

Crap.

"Everything okay here, ma'am?" One of the deputies asked as he leaned out the window eyeing their clothes and her slightly swollen face.

Emily quickly nodded as she yanked her badge out.

"Yep, I'm good. Thanks guys. This is actually my boss," she answered with a flick of her head towards Hotch, "and I just had a little run in with our SUV door," she rolled her eyes as she pointed to her nose and then their clothes, "gave myself a bloody nose and the two of us a nice dry cleaning bill."

A perfectly plausible . . . completely unverifiable . . . version of recent events. One that would explain her injury, their clothes, and prevent Hotch the humiliation of getting detained for questioning.

Now hopefully they wouldn't ask any follow-up.

And after a few seconds of raised eyebrow sizing them up . . . even if they didn't know these two men personally, it probably helped that the FBI's presence in the precinct was known . . . the deputies seemed to decide that Hotch wasn't a parking lot mauler.

"Well that is very unfortunate ma'am," the driver drawled with a slight chuckle as he leaned forward to talk over his partner, "all right then. You two have a good night now."

"Yes," Emily smiled, "you too. Have a safe night deputies."

"Yes, thank you, for your concern." Hotch added as he slipped his badge back in his pocket.

So with a final nod, and a, "thank you kindly," from the deputy closest to them, the squad car pulled away.

As they headed towards the main lot exit to the street, Emily heard Hotch murmur from beside her, "thank you for that."

Though he wasn't generally a proponent of lying, there was just NO good way to spin the truth. Punching one of his female agents in the face was going to look bad no matter how many modifiers they'd tried to throw on the situation.

Which is why he'd limited his conversational contribution to a simple, "thank you for your concern," and basically let Emily do all of the talking for both of them.

A rarity for him.

Emily huffed slightly as she bumped her shoulder into his.

"Yeah well," they started walking again, "this one will be our little secret."

"Thanks, and the other one too, please," Hotch added, "I don't want the team to know about the offer. It'll just," he sighed, "cause conversation."

Conversation, drama, turmoil.

Same thing.

"Oh right," Emily swallowed over the lump that was suddenly in her throat again, "of course. I wasn't going to say anything."

Of course she wouldn't. But really, even if she'd wanted to talk to somebody, what could she say without giving away her own secret desire to wake up with Hotch on the pillow next to her for the next fifty years?

Exactly.

So for both of their sakes, she was going to bottle this one up, and just pray that Hotch wasn't going to break her heart in the next forty-eight hours.

Then she heard him sigh again and she glanced over to see his strong profile in the sodium lights.

God, who was she kidding? Forty eight hours was only the initial waiting period. She shook her head.

_He was going to break her heart eventually._

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Probably one more chapter here to wrap things up. And keep in mind if you're new to this universe, they don't get together until Valentine's Day. It's only October. _

_If you read Communication Breakdown, you might notice I gave Hotch and Haley a similar New York background here as there. Given I've already written a world where that seemed very plausible to me, I figured it would work here too.  
><em>

_I might have something else up tomorrow. Though I honestly have no idea what, but I believe I have some other stuff in decent draft._

_As always, thanks for the past and future feedback :) _


	4. Everything's Different Nothing's Changed

**Author's Note:** To my surprise, (given my muse is beginning to get a bit twitchy after a few weeks of steady output), I got this done. And yes, we're wrapping TWO things in one week, so exciting!

_Note: Please interpret the above exclamation point, with the irony in which it was placed :) _

This picks up the next night from the parking lot incident. And though this chapter doesn't have the humor of the other ones, the reason for that will become obvious as you start reading. Again though, the tone fits for the overall universe which has (if not _initially_ by design) generally now end up with one serious chapter per story.

**Other Accounts:**

_****NEW WEBSITE: www . fractured-reality . com**_

_**I have a new website. If interested, you can read more about it (and my future on FF . net) on my Tumblr listed below. It's the June 10**__**th**__** note.**_

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also random randomness that is my brain._

_**Tumblr: sienna27 **__– More randomness._

_**Tumblr: cmfanficprompts **__– Just as the name describes. Jointly run with Kavi Leighanna. _

* * *

><p><strong>TV<strong> **Prompt Set #38 - (Combo March & April 2012)**

Show: Desperate Housewives

Title Challenge: Everything's Different, Nothing's Changed

* * *

><p><strong>Everything's Different, Nothing's Changed<strong>

Emily anxiously pounded her index finger into the concaved, shiny metal elevator button.

And then she stood there, biting her lip, with her hands clamped tightly together in front of her. She was trying to remain outwardly calm as she watched the little red light slowly bounce down from the hospital's fifteenth floor.

It was taking forever.

And though there was a part of her that wanted to spin around on her heel, smash through the fire door ten feet away, and run up the seven flights she needed to go, she knew that would be completely irrational (borderline psych ward) behavior. This wasn't an emergency. The emergency had passed hours ago. This was just . . . she swallowed . . . a visit.

That's all. A visit.

Hotch was fine.

Well . . . her eyes started to sting . . . no, no, he wasn't actually _fine_. If he was, then he wouldn't be up on the seventh floor of this hospital. He'd be back at the hotel with the rest of the team, splitting a pizza, refusing more than one beer, and trying to unwind. Or if not unwind, at least forget the body count for a little while. That was usually what they did in cases like this.

Block things out.

But Hotch wasn't back with them at the hotel trying to block things out. No, he was here in this inner-city hospital in the middle of Texas. And without him there with the group, Emily couldn't even pretend to have any interest in grabbing a slice or her own single bottle of beer. As soon as Morgan and JJ had walked back in with their dinner, she'd grabbed the keys from Derek's hand, and muttered that she was going to get some air.

She'd be back later.

Rossi might have known where exactly she was going to breath in her air . . . but he didn't say anything. And she certainly wouldn't have confided in him even if he had asked. She was still pissed off at him.

_They_, were still pissed off at him.

She and Hotch both. Not that it had affected their work the last twenty-four hours. Their work had been exemplary . . . _everyone's _work had been exemplary.

They'd cracked the case.

Finally.

And nobody knew that they were having a 'thing' with Rossi, because everybody was cool and detached on the job anyway. Especially when they'd reached the stage where they were today. The stage where they planned the locations of the entry teams, and divided up the work of the internal search grids.

They were a bunch of cool, bad assed, cucumbers then.

But tonight, back at the hotel, they were all trying to be a little too cool, a little too . . . _detached_. And that's because they were all a little too shaken up.

And that was because of Hotch.

Why he was in the hospital. The last time Emily had seen him, he'd been on oxygen. That was when he was being loaded into the back of the ambulance. Smoke inhalation, the EMT said, meet them at Methodist, downtown campus.

And then she slammed the door in Emily's face.

But that was five hours ago, Emily reminded herself as the elevator numbers ticked down to nine . . . and then eight . . . he was better now. Rossi had said so. Rossi had spoken to him. Perhaps if they lived in a 'normal' world . . . which they did not . . . under the circumstances (aka, the big fight) Rossi would have been an odd choice for Hotch's hospital phone call. But Rossi was second in command. And obviously that meant that he had to be the one that Hotch called. So Rossi had spoken to Hotch, and Rossi said that Hotch was fine.

He was just . . . resting.

Right . . . Emily took a shallow breath as the red light bounced to five . . . resting. But she hadn't heard that from Hotch's own lips. He hadn't called her himself. So that meant that there was no pizza and beer and unwinding. There was no going to bed and pretending to sleep.

She had to see him.

She had to confirm for herself that he was just fine.

That he was just resting.

And then all would be well.

Or if not well, at least she'd be able move forward from that awful moment out in the street. That moment where she'd last seen him, when that ambulance door had slammed in her face.

The door had slammed shut, and then they'd raced off, lights spinning, sirens blaring . . . just more light and noise cutting through a sweltering Texas neighborhood already overrun by emergency vehicles.

Emily had wanted to run over to her own emergency vehicle and peel out after them. Chase them to the hospital with her own lights spinning, and sirens blaring.

More light and noise to frighten the locals . . . and she almost did it too. But then Morgan had called her name . . . called her back.

The UNSUB. The missing women.

The search wasn't done.

Her _job _wasn't done.

So though it had taken something from her . . . something that she was ashamed that she could let go . . . she'd let Hotch be taken away.

And she let herself go back to work.

She'd turned and run back into the smoky building. The building that she'd run out of just minutes before. That's when she and Morgan had been dragging Hotch out on his heels. He'd been gasping for air even as the skin on the back of his forearm was continuing to bubble up.

Yeah . . . she swallowed as she thought back . . . he'd been burned too.

Badly.

The burn was bad . . . the elevator doors finally slid open and Emily hurried inside . . . but fortunately it was localized to just that one spot on his arm. The arm that he'd thrown up to shield his face from the fire. He was falling backwards.

And he was falling backwards because he was pushing her behind him. Below him.

Knocking her down.

Protecting her.

And nearly knocking her out in the process.

When her head had hit the planks on the filthy floor of that hallway, for just a second she'd been completely stunned. But because of Hotch's actions . . . because she was FLAT on the floor . . . the backdraft had blown completely over her.

But not him.

That's when he'd gotten the burn. Even as she was still trying to process what had happened . . . that the UNSUB had booby trapped one of the rooms . . . it hadn't been expected . . . Hotch had begun dragging her out of that hall.

They were still both on the floor . . . he had her face jammed into his FBI windbreaker . . . and he was pulling her as he crawled along. And by the time they reached the main corridor of the boarding house . . . otherwise known as 'relatively fresh air' . . . Hotch was sucking wind.

And that's when their positions had reversed.

Her head had started to clear from the hit that she had taken. And due to his actions . . . his protection . . . her lungs had stayed almost completely clear of the thick black smoke.

His had not.

So when he collapsed, she screamed for someone to help her . . . and Morgan and JJ had come racing up the stairs. And then they'd dragged him outside. She might have been screaming for the EMTs.

She couldn't quite remember.

She just remembered feeling panic and fear and adrenaline . . . and then he was gone.

And she had to go back to work.

Hotch had called Dave an hour later. They were still searching the grounds then, having been kicked out of the three story home, by first the fire department . . . and then the bomb squad.

Everybody thought that they were nuts for not leaving when the first device went off.

Of course it turned out to be the _only_ device . . . and it was small . . . but still, nobody knew that then. And they were just trying to do their job. Trying to find those women that they knew were still alive. And they knew they were alive because they'd profiled it.

Even if they hadn't profiled that little 'ka boom' off the second floor hallway . . . but nobody bats a thousand every time.

And tonight they did not get their home run.

But they did find those women. The ones that they knew were still alive. There was a storm cellar . . . one detached from the main structure. JJ noticed the discoloration in the dirt. Dave found the tripwire . . . and Reid the pulley to open the door.

She and Morgan climbed into the hole.

It was a team effort.

And Emily was so happy to find those women, that for just a split second . . . almost like a shimmer in the space around her . . . she forgot something terribly important.

That Hotch wasn't with them.

That he was hurt.

And then she remembered . . . and she hated herself for forgetting. For even just that second where the world had seemed to bend. And that's why she was riding up in this elevator to see him now. Or at least one of the reasons . . . there were so many. That was the problem with being in love from afar.

Everything was complicated.

The doors finally opened on the seventh floor, and Emily took a breath as she stepped out and into the brightly lit corridor. It always looked like high noon in the middle of a patient ward. And her eyes were wide as they darted back and forth, trying to decide which way to go.

She didn't have Hotch's room number . . . just the floor . . . so she needed to find the nurses' station first.

And then she saw dark skin and light blue scrubs . . . one of the nurses coming out of a patient room . . . and so she turned left.

"Excuse me," She called out as she came up behind her, "Agent Hotchner. What room is he in, please?"

Her voice wasn't quite as authoritative as she would have liked . . . there was a tremor that she couldn't hide . . . so she compensated by pulling out her badge. Given that she was still wearing her FBI vest and windbreaker . . . she'd hadn't even thought to change when they got back to the Sheraton . . . this was definitely over identification.

But a little over identification never hurt anything.

The nurse paused, her brow wrinkling as she looked her over for a moment. Then she took a few steps to check the clock on the wall over the nurses' station. Emily's feet and gaze followed.

It was well after eleven.

"Please," she whispered, the tremor more pronounced than before, "I _need_ to see him."

The nurse stared for a moment longer . . . most likely taking in the bruises on her face . . . and then her eyes dropped to take in her soot covered clothes, and her tightly curled fist. Finally her expression softened.

There was sympathy there.

"Room 416," she whispered back while putting her hand on Emily's shoulder and pointing to the East wing, "but visiting hours were over at nine so," she gave her a little smile, "try to keep a low profile, okay?"

"Yes, thank you," Emily nodded as she tucked her credentials away with a grateful smile, "thank you very much."

And then she turned to hurry down the hall, trying look like she wasn't jumping out of her skin . . . even though she was.

He was fine, she _knew _that he was fine, so she needed to calm down. And she most definitely needed to NOT come off like a complete spaz when she saw him.

She would just embarrass herself.

So with that key thought in her head . . . of attempting to keep a little dignity . . . she stopped to take a breath just outside his door. And once she thought that her emotions were locked back in the box . . . or at least not being worn DIRECTLY on her sleeve . . . she stepped forward.

Then she knocked once on the open door before poking her head around the corner.

"Hotch?" she called out softly, "are you awake?"

There was no response.

But as Emily stepped further into the room . . . and took note of the two empty beds, though one clearly had mussed sheets . . . she realized that there was no response because there was no Hotch. And she could see that the bathroom door was open too, so he wasn't in there either.

A wave of panic started to rise up . . . but she quickly pushed it back down again. He was fine. The nurse had been completely calm. And clearly if anything had happened to him . . . certainly anything 'serious' . . . his floor nurse of ALL people, would have known about it. So she had obviously sent Emily to this room expecting that he'd be in here.

So where did he go?

For a moment she stood there, her fingers tapping anxiously against her holster as she tried to think like Hotch. Though the man was stubborn as hell, he wasn't stupid. He had sucked in a decent amount of smoke . . . thick, _hot_ smoke . . . and they had admitted him to monitor his breathing. And she knew that Hotch was quite fond of 'breathing' in general, so she just didn't see him . . . in situation like _this_ . . . being foolish enough to check himself out AMA.

That could be suicidal.

And again, if he'd been cleared to go, that's something his nurse would have known about it.

Okay then . . . Emily turned and stepped back into the hall . . . that meant that he had to be around here somewhere. She looked back and forth, trying to figure a logical Hotch hidey hole, somewhere he might have decided to go. And then she saw it.

Patient lounge.

They probably had a TV in there, and . . . she started heading down the corridor . . . she had noticed that the one in Hotch's room was out of order.

There was a sign taped over the screen.

And sure enough, when she poked her head around the corner of the lounge door, there he was . . . sitting on one of the battered leather couches. He was in a green hospital gown and his black dress pants, (gun on his lap), while he flipped channels on the remote with the hand that wasn't bandaged. Her eyes started to burn.

He was okay.

Of course she had known that, but it wasn't the same as actually seeing him for herself. And so she was able to blink the moisture away, and keep her voice steady, as she stepped through the doorway and whispered.

"Figured I'd find you in here."

Hotch's head swiveled as his eyes snapped over to hers.

"Hey," the remote fell from his fingers and down to the cushion, as he looked up at her in surprise, "what are you doing here?"

His voice was scratchy and hoarse, but the doctor had told him that should fade in a day or so.

Unfortunately the scars from the burn were going to take a bit longer to heal.

Emily stopped short at Hotch's response, her brow shooting up to her hairline.

"What do you mean what am I DOING here?" She sputtered in disbelief, "you're in the HOSPITAL Hotch! You're HURT! Where _else_ would I . . . be?"

Her last word ended with a stumble and an awkward pause. And then her eyes dropped to the floor.

Well, so much for playing cool and collected. Spaztastic as usual Em. But there again, the unrequited love thing . . . her face started to get hot . . . so messy. But there was nothing to be done about that now. He would either comment on her overly 'heated' response to his benign (conversational) question, or he wouldn't.

She was really hoping that he wouldn't.

And in the hopes that he would ignore it if she did, Emily tried to will the blush from her cheeks as she started over to the couch.

"So, um," there was an awkward clearing of the throat as she brought her eyes back to his, "how are you feeling?"

Though she was still praying that he would play stupid, Emily could see that Hotch was looking at her oddly. So it was clear that even if he didn't _acknowledge_ her embarrassing display, it had certainly caught his attention.

Great.

Hotch stared up at Emily for a moment, and then his expression began to soften as he saw the worry lines around her mouth and the tension in her brow.

Not to mention the pink in her cheeks.

And putting himself in her position . . . realizing how worried HE would be, if she had been the one loaded into the ambulance . . . he gave her a faint smile.

"I'm okay. Now," he put his hand out, "come sit down. I was trying to get the news, but that can wait."

Though he wanted to ask her about the case, that could wait too. Rossi had texted him an update when they finished at the scene. So he already knew that they'd found a half dozen live girls in a storm cellar . . . and twice as many dead ones in the _actual _cellar. This case was definitely not falling into the "win" column for anyone.

Even with live recoveries and a dead UNSUB, it barely counted as a tie.

Emily's eyes stayed locked onto Hotch's for two beats. And seeing the warmth there . . . and knowing then that he wasn't put off by what could be considered her 'odd' behavior . . . she continued across the small room.

Her boots were clicking on the shiny white tile as she approached the couch.

And then her fingers were sliding into Hotch's.

He tugged her down.

Slowly, she lowered herself to the battered cushion beside him. Now that she was so close to him, her eyes were starting to sting again.

He smelled of smoke . . . but of course she probably did too. Also though, he just looked so vulnerable in the cloth gown. And there were a few small cuts on his face from where the door splintered just before it blew into the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. At that point they were already on the ground . . . he'd knocked them clear to the other side of the doorway. They'd been so lucky.

But only because of him.

They were quiet for a minute, and then Emily squeezed his fingers.

"I was worried about you."

Her voice was thick, the emotion back again . . . but this time she couldn't find it in her to care. And then Hotch huffed humorlessly.

"Yeah," his grip on her hand tightened, "I was kind of worried about me too."

Not as worried as he had been for her though. Her welfare had been his only thought when they slapped the oxygen mask over his face.

At least she was okay.

"You _are_ all right though?" Emily asked slowly, "really? We can fly home tomorrow?"

Obviously they weren't leaving without him. So if he wasn't better, if he wasn't released, then the rest of them weren't going anywhere either.

"Yeah, well," Hotch tipped his head, "I think so. Officially, the doctor said that she was 'cautiously optimistic' about me leaving, but she wouldn't say definitively until twelve hours had passed without any breathing problems." Then he lightly patted his chest, "that's why they're keeping me. Because my lungs do hurt a little, not too bad, but," he rolled his eyes slightly, "she said with my," he did a half-assed one handed air quote, "'age' that she thought I should be monitored a bit longer. So they'll do another set of breathing tests in the morning."

Not that he resented the woman's efforts to keep him from potentially dropping in respiratory distress, but it was annoying being chained to the bed after SPECIFICALLY being told that he had to stay a full eighteen hours JUST because of his age! He wasn't even that damn old!

Emily nodded slowly, her eyes locked onto the array of magazines fanned across the table in front of them . . . seven of the ten were over a month old.

Not that that mattered in the slightest, but she'd recently realized that she could no longer stop her brain from 'noticing' things like that. She was always working. Always on the job.

Even now.

"That's good," she finally murmured back to Hotch. Then she realized that she sounded distracted, that she had _been_ distracted, and turned to him.

"I mean, I'm glad that they're optimistic about you leaving."

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Hotch winced slightly and reached out to touch her cheek.

"You know," he whispered as his palm cupped around her jaw, "as long as you're here, you could get your nose checked."

Even though they'd iced it last night, it was still swollen. And she'd also developed a faint mouse under each eye . . . but not so faint that she could cover them with makeup.

Every time he looked at her he felt like a complete bastard all over again.

"What?" Emily blinked in surprise, "oh, no." She wrinkled the nose in question, and then winced slightly at the pain, "no, I'm fine. It's not broken, so there's nothing for them to do anyway."

"You could get some pain killers," Hotch pointed out softly, "I know it has to still be hurting you Emily."

"Hotch," Emily she scowled slightly, feeling a faint bit of irritation begin to color her words, "we're here because of _you_. Because YOU left the scene in the back of an ambulance," she shook his hand away and leaned back, "so let's stop talking about me."

Hotch's fingers curled back into a fist . . . he pulled it to his chest.

"Are you angry with me?"

The question had a note of surprise . . . and hurt. She'd pushed him away. She hadn't done that since last month when they had that terrible fight.

He couldn't go through being shut out like that again.

"No, yes," Emily shook her head slightly as she felt the irritation building, and it was building out of nowhere. "But not about the damn nose. I told you to forget about that."

She turned to him then, her voice getting harder, but with her eyes visibly moist.

"You shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have pushed me under you. I was closer to the door, I should be in here. Not you."

He could have died protecting her. And that's why she was suddenly so pissed off. He could have DIED, and all he cared about was her stupid busted NOSE!

What was WRONG with him?!

"_No,_ Emily," Hotch's raspy voice was firm as he reached over to take her hand again, "no, you should _not_ be in here. You're my responsibility. Your safety," his voice thickened further, "your _life_, if something happens to you, to any of you, if it goes wrong, that's all on me. And I couldn't . . . I . . ." he paused for a second to clear his throat, "I did my job tonight. And that's the end of it."

That was a lie. Because it was really barely even the beginning of it. Of course he would have taken the same protective action if he'd been going through that door with JJ or Reid . . . or even Morgan or Dave. It _was_ his job to make sure that they ALL stayed safe.

And he'd willingly lay down his life for any of them.

But with the others, he probably wouldn't have been _personally _terrified while he was doing it. Not for his own safety of course, it was never for his own . . . but just for hers. For Emily's. He was terrified that he would fail, and she would be hurt.

And he couldn't live with that.

Not if it had been in his power to prevent it.

Emily stared back at Hotch. Her jaw was tight and her tears were pooling as she felt the strength of his grip wrapped around hers.

Finally her expression shifted, softened . . . broke. And with that her watery gaze dropped down to his chest.

His poor battered lungs.

"Are you huggable?" She whispered.

She desperately needed a hug, and she needed it from him. But she was afraid of hurting him. But then she felt his fingers on her chin . . . and he was tipping her head back. His expression was unreadable.

And then something changed in his eyes.

"For you," a sad smile touched his lips, "always."

Feeling one of those tears slip over and slide down her cheek, Emily turned to face him. And as his hand fell from her cheek, she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck.

And as he slipped his arms around her body, and tugged her close, more tears began to slide down her face. And she hated that she was being so emotional, that she was once again completely wearing her heart on her sleeve. And she needed to hide it away.

Otherwise it was going to get broken.

But maybe . . . she bit her lip and buried her face against his throat . . . just maybe he would simply read her reaction as that of a close friend, upset over a close call. And that was part of it . . . or at least the bare essence of it . . . but the feelings weren't those of friendship. They were much deeper.

And that's why she couldn't stop crying.

"Do you think that they'd let me sleep in your room?" She sniffled as she ran her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck.

Hotch closed his eyes, feeling a shiver run over his skin where she was touching him.

"Why would you want to sleep in my room?" He whispered back, already knowing the answer . . . but needing to hear her say it anyway. This was all that they had.

And he'd take what he could get.

"Because I don't want to leave you here by yourself," she sniffled again, "what if you need something? You'd be all . . . alone."

Her voice caught on the last word. And feeling a faint sob beginning to bubble up, she took a deep, shuddering breath. There had been too many days now with too little sleep, and too much stress. And so she took another deep breath as Hotch began to rub little circles on her back. He was whispering softly in her ear, telling her that he wished that she would stay, that he'd like the company. And she sucked in another breath . . . though this one not quite so ragged. Then he whispered something else.

And she froze.

Slowly, she leaned back, her red rimmed eyes wide with surprise.

"What did you say?" She sniffed, the back of her hand coming up to catch her drippy nose.

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly.

"I said that I'm not leaving," he repeated softly while reaching up to wipe the tears from her face, "I've decided to stay. There are still things for me to do here." Seeing Emily eyes widen slightly at that statement, he tipped his head, "with the job I mean. There's work to do. I'm not finished yet."

Though the words that he was saying weren't untrue . . . they weren't the whole truth either. Mostly he was just staying for her. Because if he left, who would watch her back? That's all he had been thinking on the ride into the hospital, what would have happened if he hadn't been there?

Who would have been her partner tonight? Would she have been hurt in that explosion? Burned?

Killed?

And those weren't abstract questions, because danger was not an 'abstract' element of their job. Every moment that they were in the field, there was a risk . . . usually one of great bodily harm. But it wasn't until today when the harm came so very close to Emily for the first time in some months, that Hotch realized the FULL implications of him leaving.

She would be alone in the field.

Nobody else would look after her the way that he did . . . as though _his_ life, depended on it. Because that was the truth of the matter. His continued well- being was now tied up in her continued well-being.

Their fates were intertwined.

And he had been a fool to think that he could go off and leave her. There would be no leaving her. Not now . . . he closed his eyes as she leaned into him again . . . not for the foreseeable future. He would rather live with this . . . he rubbed his hand along her back . . . just her coming to give him a hug at midnight, than nothing at all.

So when she murmured against his throat that she was hungry, his eyes crinkled as he patted her back.

"Me too," he whispered back, "why don't you sneak us in a pizza? They can bring it to the lobby, and you can run down the stairs to bring it up."

She leaned back then and smiled at him, and even though her eyes were still a bit shiny . . . it was a big, toothy grin.

One so bright that it made his heart hurt.

And he saw yet another reason not to go. Not just to stay and play Kevlar on the days that she needed it, but also, that smile that he had fallen in love with. And her deep throaty laugh as she wiped her face and started pulling out her phone. These were the pieces of her that he had now. They were wonderful pieces.

And they were pieces that he wasn't willing to let go, no matter how great New York might be.

So he would stay in Virginia, and stay in this job. And he would just keep Emily close, as close as he could without completely jumping off the deep end. And they could have good days . . . and make good memories . . . even with the limitations on their relationship.

The limitations were really mostly only in his mind anyway.

Well, aside from the sex, that one wasn't just in his mind. But . . . he rolled his eyes slightly . . . that was not a thought for today.

Today was for starting new, with what was old.

And with that in mind, as Emily dialed information, clearing her throat as she asked for the closest pizzeria in the area, Hotch leaned back against the couch and tucked his arm around her shoulders. Then he pulled her to his side. And with her head resting on his chest, and her hand resting on his knee, he finally closed his eyes and sighed.

Perhaps this day was a win after all.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: The prompt was key here in setting the tone for the chapter. Potential big plans on one day, suddenly are just a passing fancy on another. And just one little thing happens to change everything, even though nothing really changed at all. _

_And though this universe is overall fairly light in its humor, it is first and foremost a series of tales about two people in love, trying to find a way to be together, even though they can't be. At least not until MUCH later. So obviously under those circumstances, and their jobs, there isn't always going to be a 'funny' to mine from the moment. Sometimes the moment will be sad, or strained, or like this one, heavy and emotional. The trick here for me, is to not make the emotional elements repetitive to a stage in Girl where they were friends and not yet something more. Because their reasons here for being apart are very different (it's work alone) and also their relationship here is not the same. They won't be getting back home to go cuddle up on Emily's couch. There is a gap in how far Hotch feels he can go with her, so there is more 'longing' here (or there will be) as things move forward. And I do have other stories planned for this world. It's still only early October, and they don't get together until the following February. There are holidays, and all the angst therein, to mine!_

_And thank you so much EVERYONE who has been leaving me notes this week! There was much feedback on the closing of Reason and the opening of the sequel, and I've barely made a dent in being able to get back to people :) Again, thank you all though._


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